Page 80 of The Mistletoe Bluff
Maya
The sunrise peeked through the curtains in a gentle caress as Christmas morning fell upon us. I wasn’t a morning person in the slightest, but waking up across from Oliver, even if my hips were sore from sleeping on the hard floor, with our fingers barely holding onto each other might have been enough to convince me that mornings weren’t so bad.
It was the first Christmas I could remember when I woke up not dreading the day. Where I woke up with even an ounce of happiness. I wouldn’t be seeing my family today, nor would I be receiving any gifts or doing anything Christmassy—aside from Oliver’s family dinner—but none of that bothered me as I studied the man sleeping feet away from me.
How did we even get here?
A year ago, I hated his guts and thought for sure that he hated me too.
But he had been harboring feelings for me this entire time. And now, I was waking up on his floor on Christmas, to his sleeping form and our fingers intertwined.
I didn’t know why it all ended up the way it did, but watching Oliver’s peaceful face as he slept, oblivious to my inner turmoil, I found myself grateful for the series of events that led here.
My fingers moved on their own, skimming against his, and he inhaled, his eyes blinking open. I loved him in his thick, Clark Kent glasses, but this version of him, waking up with no glasses and the scruff of his beard just a little thicker…
I wouldn’t mind waking up to that every day.
Holy poop on a stick. Where did that thought come from?
I had never been the type of person to envision a future with someone. I was always careful not to, but Oliver had me deep in fantasy land.
“Morning, love.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, and my stomach did a thousand somersaults at the sound—not to mention him calling melove.
I smiled. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
Oliver closed his eyes and smiled. Then he gripped the blanket beneath me and tugged. I let out a little yelp but then I was next to him, his arms wrapped around me, and one of my legs draped over his.
“That’s better,” he murmured, and my insides melted a little more as he nuzzled his head beneath my chin.
I like sleepy Oliver.
We laid like that for a long time, until the grumbles of our stomach and the need for coffee forced us to move and participate in being adults again. But before I could untangle myself from his embrace, Oliver squeezed me tight.
“Happy Christmas, darling,” he said, his voice buzzing against my neck.
I whispered back, “Happy Christmas, Oliver.”
A slow smile worked its way over my face at those words and the possibility that maybe, just maybe…
This might be a happy Christmas after all.
After a heavy dose of coffee and a light breakfast—err, I supposed it was lunch by that point—which Oliver prepared, he dropped me off at home to get ready for dinner with his parents tonight. I had expected to spend most of the day with him, but he said he had a project to work on and he’d pick me up later tonight.
I tried to ask him whatprojecthe could have on Christmas Day, but he only smirked and gave me a cryptic, “You’ll see.”
To keep my anxiety from getting the best of me, I did my best to stay busy. I showered, cleaned my apartment, and watched a Hallmark movie, trying to distract myself from tonight’s dinner. I even texted Elsie to ask how things were going with her family, but too quickly I ran out of things to keep me preoccupied. It was a valiant effort, but by the time he arrived, and I climbed in the Jeep, my entire body was itching with anticipation and nerves. Oliver was quiet as he drove, his fingers tapping a fast rhythm against the steering wheel.
Oliver’s parents’ house was lit up like a Christmas tree when we pulled into the driveway. A weighted silence fell between us as he shut the car off, and we both stared at the bright, multicolored two-story house.
That tense silence lingered between us, crackling like the air before a lightning strike.
There was so much that could go wrong with this dinner.
We had practiced being “relationshippy” a fair amount, but I was still worried that his father would sniff out that I had been using Oliver this whole time to get to him. Part of me was scared that if his father saw through us, he would plant doubts in Oliver’s mind about me, and then he’d walk away from me for good.
His dad had already proven how difficult he could be, which added even more stress to trying to convince him that Oliver and I were together. It was my fault that Oliver had lied to his father in the first place, and now that things had escalated between us, I didn’t want to let him down.
Never mind the fact that I needed his dad to like me if I wanted any sort of leg-up in the contest.
